Dreaming All My Life
by AbsolutelySpiffing
Summary: Do we ever really forget someone we have loved?


_Was she ever?_  
_Was she ever here?_  
_If I'm dreaming all my life_  
_If I'm dreaming all my life away_  
-David Bowie

*****  
She awoke with a start. Looking around, Monica Wilkins realized she must not have been asleep for very long at all. The television was still on, her husband's bedside lamp still shining brightly, and he, Wendell, was propped up in bed watching a late night talk show and chuckling at something witty the host of the late night show had said.

Monica turned over onto her side in their large, comfortable bed. She snuggled deeper into the soft sheets and tried to recall the dream she'd just had. It had been a pleasant dream, she was sure, but not quite a happy one. Monica felt an overwhelming sense of sadness mixed with something else. She furrowed her brow, trying to pinpoint the emotion. Was it...pride? That was odd, but maybe that was it.

She turned back over and sat up in the bed.

"Wendell, I've just had the strangest dream."

"Oh really? What's that," Wendell asked, not taking his eyes off the television screen.

"Well, we were in a train station. In London, maybe." Monica paused and poked her husband in the ribs. He jumped a bit and turned to give her a dirty look.

"What was that for?!"

"You're not even listening! Right, well, we were in a train station in London. King's Cross, I'm pretty sure."

"Where were we going?" Wendell interrupted her. Monica frowned and shook her head.

"We weren't traveling. We were just standing on the platform and there was a great red train-"

"A red train? Why would there be a red train?" Wendell interrupted again. He was as bad as a child.

"For goodness sakes, Wendell. It was a dream, I don't know! Would you listen please?" She paused and he politely nodded for her to go on, without making any further comment. "Anyhow, we were standing by this red train -it was very large- and there were children boarding it. We were watching one little girl in particular. She had curly brown hair. Just before the train doors closed, she turned and waved to us and we waved back. And then I woke up," Monica finished, looking expectantly at her husband, as though he would be able to explain the dream to her.

"That's it?"

"That's it," Monica said with a shrug. Wendell gave her a long look before turning back to his TV program.

"I told you not to eat that butterscotch sundae so late in the evening. It's giving you funny dreams," he said. Monica sighed. He didn't understand. It had seemed so real, as if she'd been there before. More like a memory than a dream, really. But she didn't know any little girls with curly brown hair and she couldn't recall the last time she'd set foot in King's Cross, so it had to have just been a dream.

Monica laid back down and tried to think of something else, but the sadness lingered. She didn't know why she should feel so sad over a dream, particularly when in the dream itself she had felt sad, happy, and, yes, that was it, proud all at once. She puzzled over it for awhile and finally began to feel a bit sleepy.

"I'll have a chat tomorrow with Sue tomorrow at our lunch date," she thought to herself. "She understands this sort of thing." And with that fleeting thought Monica snuggled deep down into the covers and was soon asleep again.

Hermione reached into her beaded bag and felt around for a moment. It was here somewhere... Finally she grasped a heavy, fabric covered book and pulled it out. She sat with it for a moment on her lap, examining the familiar light blue cover. She traced her finger across the embroidered word across the front: "Family." She glanced around the tent. Harry was outside, keeping watch. Ron, of course, was just...gone. Hermione sighed and swallowed hard.

She opened the heavy volume and slowly began to examine each of the photos in her mother's favorite photo album. At first she had admonished herself for keeping it. If they were captured, the photos in the album would give the Death Eaters faces to seek out. They would know who her parents were... No, that wasn't right. Not who they were anymore, for they were no longer the Grangers. The album would only reveal what they looked like. Their new identities and home, that would still be safe.

It was one of the few risks she was willing to take, even if it were a bit selfish. They were so far away, after all. No one would ever find Wendell and Monica Wilkins all the way in Australia. She needed this photo album, with its reminders of happier times. It was a comfort to her; one of the few left, especially since Ron...

A tear slid down her cheek as she studied a photo of her with her parents on Platform 9 3/4 for the very first time. Sometimes, when it was quiet and she was quite alone with her thoughts, she wondered if her mother somehow, perhaps in the very deepest reaches of her mind, remembered her. It was a foolish thought. Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, did not blunder memory charms; it would have been far too dangerous for her parents, for one thing. No, she had done it properly. Her parents would not remember. But even so... did it hurt to hope?

"I'll come for you, Mum," she whispered. "Please don't forget me completely."

Hermione wiped the tears from her cheeks and looked at the photo one last time before snapping the album firmly shut and returning it to the bottom of her bag. Taking a deep breath, she stood and stretched. It wouldn't do to cry. Harry needed her to be strong and she didn't intend to let him down. After all, he was the only family she had left.


End file.
